


One Night

by ama



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Communication Failure, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Not So Platonic Kissing, Other, Platonic Kissing, Polyamory, Queer Character, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: What was supposed to be lazy drunk chatting turned into a group makeout session turned into something super awkward. And maybe something awesome, too?Or: Runner has the best "first kiss" story anyone's ever heard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a Team Leckie OT4 fic ever since Josh Helman said of his three coworkers "They're all basically my best friends. If we were gay we'd never get out of bed together." Many thanks to rivlee, who came up with the idea of doing a Team Leckie minifest that actually got me to do it. You can listen to the mix she made for this fic [here](http://8tracks.com/rivlee/ain-t-good-for-anyone-else) (and the slightly less serious mix [here](http://8tracks.com/rivlee/to-see-our-glory)). Her own contribution to the fest is the excellent roadtrip fic "Next Day Gone."

It was January. The sun had gone down hours earlier and the room was dark, lit only by a string of Christmas lights, but they were all strewn across the room in comfortable positions, and none felt inclined to get up, either to go to bed or to turn on a light.

Their last semester of college started the next day.

Runner was lying on the floor with a beer, propped up on a couple of pillows. They were in Chuckler’s room, a first floor living room hastily converted into student housing. Someone had slumped on insulation and the room was cold, but there was a carpet, and Runner had snagged a blanket—he was content. Hoosier sat nearby, leaning against the bed frame and nursing a beer and a joint; Leckie and Chuckler had claimed the bed. The four of them had been more or less in the same spot for five hours, drinking and eating pizza and occasionally talking. Conversation was sporadic–“hey have you guys heard this song? here, let me play it,” “only one more fucking lab left, thank the lord,” “I’m almost gonna miss this shitty dorm”/“fuck no, I’m out and I’m never going to think about it ever again”–but pleasant.

“Okay,” Chuckler said dreamily, halfway through his third glass of wine. “Last semester bucket list, go.”

“I want to get trashed in the science building. Just once.”

“I want _all of you_ to come to a football game with me.”

“I want to go to a _Quidditch_ game.”

“Ooh, that fancy cupcake place in Schenectady, I want to go there.”

“We’ve got to go to a party and defend our Flip Cup tournament of champions title.”

“I want to go skinny-dipping in the pond.”

“I’m gonna go _all out_ for Drag Ball this year. No more chickening out and no more scheduling issues, it’s happening.”

“I’m going to kiss a guy this semester,” Runner said firmly, and Leckie clicked his tongue in an indulgent, isn’t-he-cute kind of way. “Fuck you, Peaches, I mean it.”

“I know you mean it, Bud, you’ve meant it for what, six semesters now?”

“He’s got a point, Runner,” Hoosier snorted. “You have to actually _try_ this time. Okay? Like, seriously, you can’t just stand around staring at every queer guy on campus, you have to be proactive and shit.”

“I _do_ try,” Runner insisted. He slumped down on the floor, curled up around his pillows, and huffed. “Sort of. What the fuck is flirting, anyway? I mean how can you even make sure people know that you’re flirting. It’s stupid. Dating is stupid, forget it, I change my mind.”

“Just try the Chuckler method,” Leckie said slyly, nudging Chuckler’s leg with his foot. “Stand in the middle of a dance floor and flail around like you’re having a seizure.”

“Right,” Chuckler rolled his eyes. “As opposed to the Leckie method of sulking in the corner, writing emo poetry, then getting sloppy drunk and grinding up on everyone who makes eye contact?”

“Why are we friends with these two?” Hoosier asked Runner, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “We’re way too good for them.”

“Clearly.” He sighed. “It just sucks. I really thought… I don’t know, every crappy first date I thought ‘oh it’s okay, the next one will be better,’ and then when they weren’t getting better I was like ‘well maybe I need to take a break and just let what happens happens’ and then nothing happened. Seriously, how many people go through college without getting a single person to find them attractive, ever? Twenty-two and never been kissed, it’s a _joke_ , right?”

The room was awkwardly quiet. This was an old monologue, one that had simply gotten more morose over the years, and they were out of semi-comforting things to say. Chuckler let one hand fall over the side of the bed to pat Runner’s head.

“Fuck it,” Hoosier declared suddenly. He carefully balanced his joint on the lip of a nearby beer battle and sat up, loose-limbed and casual. He reached out one arm and gestured for Runner to come closer. “C’mere, Wil, I’m gonna kiss you.”

The corner of Runner’s mouth twitched in a tiny frown and he ducked his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I know I’m whining.”

“Who said anything about whining? I want to kiss you.”

Runner frowned at him, his eyebrows drawing together as he studied Hoosier’s face. After nearly four years, they were all _very_ familiar with Hoosier’s particular type of straight-faced sarcasm, and it was rare that they weren’t all in on the joke. Hoosier stared back serenely, then batted his eyelashes.

“Let’s go, Runner, we’re not getting any younger,” he teased, and Runner rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, Hoos.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say to someone tryin’ to kiss you.”

“Leave him alone, Hoos,” Chuckler said with an easy grin. “You’re embarrassing him.”

“What’s to be embarrassed about?” Hoosier demanded. “I’m not joking. I’m not bluffing. I said I wanted to and I mean it.”

“You’re not even queer,” Leckie interjected, still staring in dreamy contemplation at the glow-in-the-dark stars Chuckler had stuck on his ceiling on the first time they had all gotten tipsy late on a school night.

Hoosier’s eyes turned on him, and he frowned seriously for a few minutes before dropping his eyes to the hem of his pants. It was fraying, and he picked at the loose thread.

“Who says?” he mumbled finally, with a brave attempt at a nonchalant shrug.

His words were met with mute shock. Leckie sat up, and the three of them stared at Hoosier for a moment—and then, conscious of their own gaze, exchanged glances with each other.

“But—you’re our token straight friend,” Runner said stupidly.

“Yeah, well. Y’all never _asked_.”

“But—”

Leckie intended to point out that there had been quite literally a hundred different opportunities for Hoosier to come out, but before he got the opportunity, Chuckler elbowed him in the ribs.

“Still doesn’t mean I want to kiss you,” Runner said. “Just because you’re hot and into guys doesn’t mean—”

“Oh, stop it,” Chuckler said impatiently. “You’re both being rude.” Then he turned to Hoosier and spoke in a very calm yet perky sort of voice. “Bill, we’re sorry for assuming, and thank you for being comfortable enough to—”

“Jesus H. Christ, this is ridiculous,” Hoosier muttered. “C’mere, Runner.”

He lurched across the room and fell heavily on his knees at Runner’s side, and put a hand on his shoulder to pull him into a kiss.

It was… a _nice_ kiss. Polite. Hoosier’s lips were soft, and for a moment he remained still, his mouth closed as though they were in a chaste, oddly homoerotic Disney movie. Then he tilted his head and parted his lips, his hand moving to Runner’s jaw, just in time to prevent the _oh my god I’m kissing Bill this is so_ _weird_ instinct from making Runner pull away. Instead he kissed back, shyly, but encouraged by the warmth of his friend’s lips, especially in the cold room, and the easy confidence with which he moved, pulling away and then tilting forward again, teasing him. It was not the kiss of someone who was taking one for the team.

After thirty seconds—a minute?—several minutes?, Hoosier drew back and resumed his place on the floor.

“There you go, then,” he said. His voice had familiar overtones of sarcasm and exasperation—but beneath that, possibly a note of uncertainty. He couldn’t quite meet Runner’s eyes as he picked up his joint again. “You got nothing to worry about, by the way,” he added out of the corner of his mouth. “’S a good kiss.”

“Thanks,” Runner said dumbly.

There was an awkward pause. Runner didn’t know where to go from there; was he supposed to _say_ something? He lifted his beer bottle to his lips instead, but aside from a spare drop or two, it was empty.

“So,” Chuckler said. “That happened.”

“If you’re going to be weird about it, I’m going to find new friends,” Hoosier threatened.

“Like _who_?” Leckie demanded.

He and Hoosier began to bicker, which was familiar enough to take the edge off. Runner still startled a minute later, when Chuckler slid off the bed and landed next to him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Chuckler replied, sounding a little breathless—and then he kissed Runner on the mouth.

 _When it rains, it pours,_ Runner thought dazedly. A giggle bubbled up and Chuckler smiled against his lips and took Runner’s face in his hands. Kissing him was different than kissing Hoosier. He kissed more eagerly, more demandingly, but still sweet. He tasted like red wine. Runner sat back after a moment, breathing harder than before, and stared dumbly at Chuckler, who was looking slightly flushed and pleased with himself.

“What the fuck,” Hoosier said, deadpan. He had sat up to stare at them. Leckie was staring too. Chuckler ran a hand through his hair as he grinned.

“Well, you got a shot, so I thought I’d go for it, too. Jealous?”

He put a hand on Hoosier’s shoulder for stability and darted over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Runner could see Hoosier’s face over Chuckler’s shoulder and he knew what was going to happen. They had played many a drunken game of Truth or Dare over the past few years, and they all knew that Hoosier couldn’t stand to let a dare pass him by. He looked up at Chuckler, raised a challenging eyebrow, and kissed him square on the lips.

“For Christ’s sake!” Leckie burst out, and they heard Chuckler laughing, although he and Hoosier were locked in such a tight embrace that it sounded more like a gurgling seal than anything else.

At what point, Runner wondered idly, did a calling-your-bluff kiss become just a normal makeout session? Because as an awkward minute passed, he got the feeling that Chuckler and Hoosier were definitely heading in that direction. There was a lot of hair-petting going on, and then some slightly less innocent torso groping, and—yeah, Hoosier was going for an ass grab.

Runner averted his gaze, because this was starting to get kind of hot and boy was _that_ uncomfortable. He met Leckie’s gaze, and his friend gave a long-suffering sigh.

“All right. Get up here.”

“Gee, thanks, Peaches,” he said, rolling his eyes. He stood up and flopped on the mattress. “But if it’s going to be an undue hardship, please don’t strain yourself on my acc—”

Oh.

Leckie was very proud of his kissing technique. They were all well aware of the fact that he thought he was a great kisser—and, amateur as he was, Runner had to conclude that it was an accurate assessment. Where Hoosier was sort of lazy about the whole thing (in a good way, like a slow day of drizzling rain), and Chuckler was hyperactive (also in a good way, like that perilous moment when a roller coaster drops over the peak), Leckie was romantic. That was the only thing Runner could think of, and it felt a little bit stupid because he wasn’t sure how kissing someone could _not_ be romantic by definition—or, contrary to that, how kissing multiple people who were definitely your friends and nothing more could be romantic—but kissing Leckie was like the feel of a warm flickering fire or the delicate feel of red rose petals or jazz music, and again it was stupid but it was the kind of kiss that did that to you.

And as he was mulling all of this over, Leckie pressed one hand against Runner’s lower back and gently lowered him down to the mattress without parting their lips. Runner broke the kiss.

“That was smooth,” he commented breathlessly.

“Yeah, I know,” Leckie grinned.

“Chicken!” Chuckler suddenly called in a strangled voice, breaking his kiss with Hoosier so abruptly that he tumbled back onto the floor. “ _Damn_ , Hoos.”

“You started it,” Hoosier said smugly.

“I did not,” Chuckler said, outraged. “You and Runner—”

He turned towards the bed, an accusing finger at the ready, and saw Wil and Leckie stretched across the mattress, kissing again. Leckie was experimenting with light kisses this time, just barely brushing his lips over Runner’s before moving on to his cheeks, neck, the back of his ear, and then lips again. Runner was trying to keep a straight (ha) face in the hopes that that might somehow counteract the bright flush on his cheeks.

“Well shit. That looks nice.”

“I want to make out with Leckie,” Hoosier declared. “It’s overdue—I’ve wanted to make out with him since he called me pretty sophomore year.”

“Trade off?” Runner offered.

“’K.”

Hoosier patted Chuckler’s cheek affectionately and stood. Runner and Leckie sat up, but before either of them could move, Leckie interrupted.

“Wait—is there any more beer?”

“Why?”

“Because this is going to be weird as shit once we’re all sober.”

“Good point,” Chuckler acknowledged. “But I feel like sitting around and chugging a beer before making out with each other is also kind of weird.”

There was a moment of silence as they considered this point.

“Shots?” Runner suggested finally.

They all agreed that shots was a much better alternative—it would take less time and keep them just as buzzed, and the buzz would hit them faster, besides. Although there was a bit of a squabble when Leckie rightly pointed out that it could be overwhelming to make out with someone who had just taken a swig of vodka, when you also had the taste of vodka still lingering in your mouth, so they had to debate for a few minutes; Chuckler, who loved tequila, sighed heavily when the others, who despised it, vetoed it immediately. It took Runner several minutes to argue that sugary, flavored vodka—in this case, pink lemonade flavored, because fuck yeah—was not “cheating” and in any case, if _he_ were the one drinking it, _their_ dignity could remain intact. Hoosier was deeply offended at the notion that he would be forced to knock back whisky rather than sip it. And Leckie was distracted at the thought of whether gin and whisky could actually be a pleasant combination, and spent a few minutes googling cocktail recipes on his phone instead of paying attention to the task at hand.

But eventually a line of shot glasses, containing plain vodka, pink lemonade vodka, whisky, and gin, were poured and consumed, and they settled back into kissing. It took a little bit of squishing, because neither Leckie nor Runner wanted to abandon the bed, and fitting four people on an extra-long twin was a bit of a challenge. After his experience with Hoosier, Chuckler decided not to sit on Runner’s lap, so they just sat next to each other and kissed, warm from the press of bodies.

Every inch of Runner’s skin felt flushed with heat, and he wasn’t sure if that was the physical closeness or the alcohol or the kissing—but he liked it. It made him feel more sensitized, heightened the sweet press of Chuckler’s lips on his and the drag of his hands over Runner’s body. He didn’t settle anywhere and he didn’t push, just left a trail of goosebumps over Runner’s shoulder, chest, thigh. It took Runner a few minutes to work up the courage to lift his hand and brush it through Chuckler’s curls, but Chuckler broke the kiss for a second to roll his head like a happy cat, which was reassuring.

They were like that for several long minutes—time always seemed to slow down at this time of night. Then Runner felt Hoosier’s nose nudging against the side of his face, and he turned and found Hoosier’s lips waiting for him—Chuckler buried his face in Runner’s hair and breathed him in, and his hand was hot against Runner’s thigh—Hoosier didn't feel so slow anymore, their mouths were slick and their breath coming faster—he could hear Leckie’s heavy breath as he continued to kiss down Hoosier’s neck and then Chuckler, too, was nibbling at _his_ neck—

"Wait," he blurted out. "Hold up—just a sec." Chuckler rested his head against Runner's shoulder, and Hoosier shrugged and turned back to Leckie. "How—uh... Jesus Christ, how do I say this? How far are we going with this?" he asked, and immediately felt stupid because holy presumption, Batman! He expected one of the to scoff at him immediately, say _Wow, Wilbur, going from your first kiss to an orgy in an hour? Bit of a leap, isn't it?_

But Chuckler just kind of grinned at him, his hand still rubbing gently against Runner’s chest.

“Let’s just follow it where it goes, huh?” he said coyly as he kissed the sensitive spot behind Runner’s ear and that was just _fine_ by him, he thought he might have a heart attack, but as long as no one was going to laugh at him—

“What the fuck does that mean?” Hoosier said angrily, tearing himself away from Leckie.  Chuckler drew back, startled.

“It means—I dunno, I thought we’d just see what we were comfortable with.”

“Isn’t making out what we’re comfortable with? ’Cuz if not, then I’m out.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Got ahead of myself, I guess.”

There was a pause, and Leckie sighed.

“And now it’s awkward. That’s got to be a record, too, I wasted a perfectly good shot of gin. One for the road, boys?”

He leaned over Hoosier’s lap to kiss Runner and Chuckler, loud smacking kisses that tasted like alcohol, and yawned as he stood and said goodnight. Hoosier shrugged and followed him. He mumbled his goodbye and didn’t make eye contact. It seemed to Runner like he slammed the door unnecessarily hard behind him, and he turned to ask Chuckler what he thought was going on.

But then it hit him that he was alone in Chuckler’s room, on Chuckler’s bed, with the skin below his ear still tingling, and there was a weird leaping feeling in his stomach. He felt suddenly shy.

“Oh well, no orgy for us,” Chuckler said with a ridiculously fake yawn, followed closely by a real one. “Probably for the best. Night, Bud.”

And so it was that within twenty-five minutes, Wilbur Conley went from having his first kiss to looking pretty confidently at second base to being dumped unceremoniously outside his friend’s door. It was a weird fucking night.

-

It was followed by a weird fucking week.

-

“Everyone’s been avoiding me,” Runner said without preamble the second Leckie opened his door the following Friday. “What the fuck, Leckie?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Bob said, holding up his hands defensively. “I told you, that fucking poetry class I’m taking as an _elective_ had an essay due yesterday. Who assigns an essay the first week of the semester?”

He stepped aside to let Runner into the room. Leckie’s room was always toeing the controlled/chaos line, and Runner shoved some laundry off the bed and took a seat. He liked Leckie’s bed; it had an excellent mattress pad and a quilt, a gift from his oldest sister, all in teals and navy blues. Leckie sat at his desk, and Runner propped his feet up.

“Fine. _You’re_ off the hook. But everyone _else_ is avoiding me—and by everyone else I mean Hoosier and Chuck, because Sid and Gibson are actually going out of their way to find me and pester me about what’s going on. _What the hell is going on?_ ”

“Well,” Leckie said thoughtfully. “This is going out on a limb—might be completely off base—but I think the whole thing started that night we all made out with each other. Do you remember that?”

“They all say you’re the smart one. I _know_ that, dumbass. But Hoosier and Chuckler were the ones who started that whole thing, remember? And now Hoosier just fucking disappears and he won’t answer my texts, and Chuckler gets really hyper and cheerful when he sees me, talks at me for five minutes and then books it. And he won’t stop calling me _buddy_.”

“Ah.”

Runner stared. There was an annoyingly wise look on Leckie’s face.

“Ah what?” he demanded.

“Ah I think I might know what’s going on with Chuckler. With Bill, who the fuck knows, but Chuck…”

Runner waited again.

“ _Tell me_.”

“Okay, okay. But don’t tell him I told you, okay? I’m just sort of piecing things together from different stuff, and if I’m wrong that’d be embarrassing. Anyway. You know that whole thing we—meaning you, me, and Chuckler, although I guess Hoosier might be in on it, too—that thing we’ve always had that we’ve never actually talked about?”

“What thing?”

Leckie gave him a meaningful look and waved his hand.

“You know. That _thing_ where we’re all queer and we like each other, and any of us probably could be in a relationship and be okay with that, but we met as friends and now we’re all just like ‘I would definitely sleep with you if you asked, but I don’t know if you’re into me like that and I’m happy being friends so I would never ask.’”

“Oh.” Runner didn’t blush easily, but he knew that his face must be brick red right now. “I, uh… I didn’t realize that was mutual.”

“Oh hell yeah, it totally is. And I think you and me have always just kind of let it lie, because I’ve actually been in a few actual relationships, and because you had your whole _I’m going to die pathetic and alone_ thing—”

“You know it would be so easy to frame someone for your murder? I can think of three possibilities off the top of my head, I would get away with it so easily.”

“—but you know Chuckler, he’s a huge fan of sex.”

Runner snorted at that. There was a LGBT Student Center on campus, and their first year he had joined as a Health Rep. Ever since then he had been overflowing with informative pamphlets, reassuring speeches, and safe sex paraphernalia. Which, being a handsome, charming, unattached individual, he had often had occasion to use himself.

“Sure, that’s one way to put it.”

“I just mean that, you know, he hasn’t had a lot of real _relationship_ -relationships, but he’s so open and casual about sex that he thinks it’s totally normal for friends hook up. But he knows that we’d feel weird about it. Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s always sort of wanted to hook up with you, but he knows you had a crush on him and he didn’t want to lead you on, so…”

Leckie sounded like he was about to continue, but he trailed off when he realized that Runner was shrinking back, doing his best to become one with the pillows behind him. That flush was not going away anytime soon.

“Everyone knows about that, huh?”

“Yeahhhhh. Sorry, Bud.”

“It’s not my fault his stupid face is attractive,” he mumbled.

“Hey man, I’m not trying to judge.” Leckie hesitated, a frown toying at the edge of his mouth. “I… I actually hit on him once. We came… sort of close to hooking up.”

“Really?” Runner blurted. A hot spike of jealousy leapt through his chest, and it caught him off guard. He opened his mouth to say something, didn’t know what to say, and closed it. Then: “When?”

“Last summer. When I got back from my semester abroad and we were both working on campus. We… no, _I_ went to Divas, and he found me there and we had a few drinks and started grinding a bit, and I asked him if he wanted to, but. I was manic,” he admitted after a stilted pause. He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided Runner’s gaze. “You know, high risk behavior, hypersexual, poor impulse control, etc etc. All that bullshit. So Chuckler didn’t think it was a good idea. He was probably right,” he added in a grudging singsong.

There was a brief silence as Leckie berated himself and Runner didn't know what to say. Leckie had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder their sophomore year—and since their sophomore year they had all had a tacit agreement that they weren't going to discuss it. They had nagged him into treating himself better before he got diagnosed, and nagged him into going back on his meds the previous fall, after he had had prescription troubles abroad. Besides that… It was one of the few things that Leckie never wanted to talk about.

Runner pursed his lips and decided that the self-reproach had gone on long enough.

“He is sometimes. But it’s so rare that I’m usually caught off guard, too, so don't worry too much about it.”

“Yeah. Anyway. Last night I think he figured was a good chance to get with you. Sort of a free-for-all, no feelings thing, pretty obviously, right? Like you wouldn’t have thought the two of you were dating or anything if the two of you had hooked up in the middle of… all of us hooking up. Had that happened.”

“Right.”

“And when that fell through, he wanted to make sure you know that you’re still friends and that he’s not trying to toy with you or anything. Hence the buddy thing.”

“That makes sense…” Runner thought about it for a minute and then flopped back on Leckie’s bed with a dramatic sigh. “That big dumbass. I’ve been kind of stupid over him for years. I’ll fucking get over it, he didn’t need to make it weird.” Then suddenly his eyes snapped open and he rolled up onto his elbows. “And _Hoosier_. What the _fuck_?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Leckie said before he had even finished the sentence.

“Has he talked to you? At all?”

“No. He sat with me in the library for a while on Wednesday but we basically didn’t talk.”

“This is so bizarre, right?”

“Right. And okay, listen, it’s weird that we didn’t know he was gay, right?” Leckie demanded.

“Definitely.”

“I’m not saying he _had_ to tell us—”

“But he tells us like everything else. And it’s not like queerness never comes up, and it’s not like we would be assholes about it.”

“Exactly! He was trying to act casual about it, but there’s no way he’s as fine with being queer as we are. There’s gotta be some baggage there.”

“Yeah…” Runner hesitated, and said in a slow voice. “And do you think… he seemed to get pissed as soon as sex came up.”

“Did he?” Leckie crossed his arms. “I guess… I mean, yeah, that makes sense. If he’s just coming to terms with being into guys, then jumping from kissing to fucking would be a lot.”

“I don’t know if he _is_ , though. Just coming to terms with it. Like you said, he talked real casually, and he didn’t even hesitate about the kissing or anything. You’d think he would hesitate. I think he’s known for a while, he just didn’t want to tell us for whatever reason. But as soon as someone mentioned sex, he got freaked out.”

“You think he’s ace or something?”

Runner started to nod, and then shook his head with a huff of frustration and held up his hands in an exaggerated shrug.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe he is, or maybe he had a bad experience, or—” He shook his head again. “You know Hoosier. He has no fucking filter, and yet we know nothing about his sex life, after four years? That’s strange. We know all about his grandparents and his life growing up and his meds and their weird side effects and every nasty detail about whenever he’s got some kind of health issue. Hoosier just _doesn’t keep secrets_ , and if he is now then that makes me think it’s something kind of big. That’s it, that’s all I’ve got.”

Conversation faded, but it wasn’t awkward. Leckie got up after a minute and nudged Runner into a sitting position so he could sit down next to him, and Runner let his head rest against Leckie’s shoulder. Leckie was, objectively speaking, the best one to cuddle with, because eventually Hoosier always abandoned them in favor of a fluffy blanket, and Chuckler had too many angles and muscles. Runner liked sitting with Leckie like this. It made the rest of this Twilight Zone week feel bearable, and he let out a content sigh.

“We’re the normal ones in this friendship,” Leckie said, both fond and exasperated.

“Yeah. We’re the best.”

“Think we should call a family meeting?”

“Would Hoosier show up?”

“He doesn’t have to. Tomorrow Blanchard’s having a hot chocolate bar out for dinner. Hoosier’ll get there at 6:45, after the crowd, pick a table in the corner, and stuff himself with mini marshmallows. All we’ve got to do is show up and swoop in.”

Runner pulled back and looked at Leckie with wondering eyes.

“You really are the smart one.”

“Fuck yeah, I am.”

-

They didn’t tell Chuckler what was happening. They told him they were going to get dinner and hot chocolate and that he had to come in the name of friendship, and he agreed with that slightly-manic cheerfulness that had characterized all of his actions the past week. So the three of them went to the dining hall, picked up servings of meatloaf and sad-looking broccoli as well as mugs full of chocolatey delight, marshmallows, and whipped cream, and descended on Hoosier en masse. He jumped.

“What the fuck? This is some goddamn Black Hawk Down shit.”

“No, it’s an intervention,” Leckie declared. “You too,” he said to Chuckler, who had frozen half-in his seat. He made a move to stand and Leckie held out a warning hand. “Sit your lanky ass down.”

“I have to pee.”

“Pee later. Intervention now. What the fuck has been going on with you two lately?”

Hoosier and Chuckler both avoided eye contact and mumbled some evasions and curses. Then a familiar figure strolled up to the table—Sid Phillips, grinning, with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, guys, mind if I join you?”

“Here, take a seat—”

“No, we’re having a thing—”

“Thank Christ, sit down—”

“Fuck off, Sid.”

Sid looked over each of them, one eyebrow hitched up near his hairline, and slowly held out his hands, palm up.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’m gonna—let whatever this is work itself out. Y’all have a good night, huh?”

He backed out slowly, and Hoosier slouched sullenly in his seat.

“You’re not getting out of this, motherfuckers,” Leckie said cheerfully. “We’re going to figure this shit out.”

“Listen, guys,” Runner said in a more diplomatic tone. “Obviously this is about what happened in Chuckler’s room, right? We thought it wouldn’t get weird, but it did. And it seems to be bothering the two of you a lot—Hoosier you’ve been avoiding all of us, and Chuckler… I guess you’ve been avoiding us too, but in this like crazy coked up way. Leckie and I just want to figure this out. So... what made it weird?”

There was a pause, and Hoosier shifted in his chair.

“Chuckler’s fault,” he grumbled. Chuckler stared at him.

“What the hell?”

“We were all just having a good time macking on each other and then _you_ were the one who brought up that ‘we’ll see where it goes’ crap—”

“Okay, seriously? No. First of all, _Runner_ brought it up first—”

“ _Thanks_.”

“—and secondly, so what? It was just a suggestion!”

“You had to go and put us all on the spot and had me looking like an asshole—”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Chuckler demanded. His color was high. “Bill, four years you’ve known me, do you really think I would have thrown a hissy fit at someone saying no thanks? I was just _asking_.”

“Well I don’t like being asked, all right? See this is why I don’t tell people I’m gay,” he burst out. “Because right away all of a sudden it’s all about sex all the time, it’s just so much fucking easier to say nothing.”

“Sex all the time? I don’t—have you—all this time—” He looked around helplessly. “For fuck’s sake, I’ve been talking about my sex life for four years, was _everyone—_?”

“Shit, no, Chuckler,” Hoosier said, impatiently waving it away. “I don’t give a damn about _your_ sex life, just keep me out of it!”

“Fine. Okay. I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t—”

Chuckler’s leg was bouncing wildly underneath the table; Hoosier was clenching his jaw so hard Runner was worried for his teeth.

“Guys, hold on,” he tried to interrupt, slowly holding out his hands.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Chuckler pressed on. “I didn’t know and I didn’t mean to fuck everything up, I—”

“Oh Christ, Lew, don’t—”

“Okay.” Leckie slapped his palm flat against the table and they all jumped. “I’m sick of this shit. We’re going to address the huge gay elephant in the room.”

Hoosier groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“I vote we stop talking about our feelings and let the elephant trample us to death.”

“Yeah. I’m going to drop out of college. Maybe join Beyonce’s tour.”

“You can’t dance,” Runner reminded him.

“Fuck you, yes I can.”

“Shut up, all of you. _Listen_. We’re all into guys and we’re all kind of into each other. Okay? It’s out there. None of us have gotten kissed and/or laid recently—or ever—”

“Murder is looking better and better.”

“—so last week we all agreed to make out with each other, and some of us also wanted to fuck each other or date each other, and wires got crossed. Okay? No one’s right, no one’s wrong. We weren’t actually talking very much and we haven’t been talking after, which is why everything’s a little fucked up, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Chuckler’s embarrassed because he thinks he was the only one who wanted sex and was pushing us for it, which isn’t really true, and Hoosier’s embarrassed because he freaked out and is shit at explaining why and thinks we’re gonna judge him for it, and that’s not true either, and Runner’s embarrassed because he thinks the whole thing is his fault. Which is a little bit true but we love him so we’re going to share the blame. And I’m not embarrassed, because I’m more mature and self-possessed than the rest of you bastards, and because pathetic as it is, this is actually the _least_ disastrous relationship I’ve ever been in.”

At various points in his speech, they had all groaned, protested, whined, but as he fell silent, so did they. There was a pause.

“Relationship?” Chuckler said.

Leckie sucked in his lip and closed his eyes; they could _see_ the word “shit” running through his mind.

“Friendship,” he clarified. “You know what I meant.”

But at the barest hint of a blush on his face they all burst out laughing and didn’t stop until they were out of breath. Leckie, between giggles, told them all to go fuck themselves. Runner was so fucking grateful that the tension had been broken. He had no idea what to do with uncomfortable pauses—he could count the times they’d had to endure them on one hand.

“Okay,” he gasped. “I’m embarrassed—you’re embarrassed, you’re embarrassed, Leckie’s embarrassed. I’m sorry for not talking things out ahead of time—”

“I’m sorry for not checking in,” Chuckler contributed.

“I’m sorry too. Not for freaking out, but…” Hoosier shrugged. “Afterwards. I know you guys aren’t assholes. I should have explained. I just—I can handle this shit in the abstract but I don’t like… I don’t like it when it comes to _me_. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chuckler said quietly.

He reached his hand diagonally across the surface of the table; Hoosier squeezed it for a silent moment without looking up.

“I’m sorry for jack shit,” Leckie chimed in.

“Thanks, Peaches. So… we all kind of like each other but we’re friends first, yeah? So we can just go back to normal?”

“And maybe sometimes we still make out,” Hoosier suggested quickly. “But not too often, and we should do some of that feelings bullshit beforehand. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Or…”

They all turned to look at Chuckler, who had tilted his head in thoughtful contemplation of the ceiling.

“Or?” Runner demanded in a bemused voice.

“Leckie, do you remember that girl you dated for a little bit sophomore year?”

For a moment Leckie was puzzled, and then his eyes widened.

“Oh, Lew, _no_.”

“Hear me out—”

“No, come on, man—”

“What’s happening?” Hoosier asked.

“He’s talking about this freshman named Loretta. We went on like three dates, maybe four—she was dating four people at once. Me, her roommate, a senior, and someone from another college. It was a fucking mess, Chuckler.”

“Of course it was,” he said waving it away. “Anyone could see that coming from a mile away. Did you hear what happened with the roommate when they broke up? It was—whatever, never mind. But, do you remember that friend she had, the junior, Carla? Carla was dating two other people. I mean, they were all dating each other, and they all got along fine. I’m friends with her on Facebook, and I’m like 99% sure they’re still together.”

“Wait a minute.” Hoosier was grinning widely and laughter kept bubbling in between his words. “Wait a minute. This fucking disaster—oh my god—this fucked-up ridiculous shitshow just went down over us not knowing how to make out with each other, and you think we should _date_? Oh my god, Lew, you’re fucking nuts!”

“Obviously we would have to talk about it,” Chuckler frowned. “But—never mind, if no one else wants to…”

“Um.” They all turned to stare at Runner, and he slipped a little farther down in his chair. “I’m not _saying_ I want to. But… What are actually talking about? Like. What would this entail?”

Chuckler lit up.

“We would have to talk about it,” he prefaced again. “To be honest, in my head it’s just like… this.” He flapped his hand in a circle. “The four of us hanging out, but with more making out and more cuddling and more flirting, I guess? And… maybe possibly sex for those who are interested in it when we feel comfortable, if we get to that point. No pressure.”

“That’s it?” Runner frowned.

“I think so? I mean, what else _is_ dating?”

“I don't know. It just—it seems like there should be more.”

“There is more,” Hoosier argued. “You’ve seen how couples get. Even having _one_ boyfriend takes up like a shit ton of time.”

“Bill, you spend all of your free time with us anyway,” Leckie laughed. “What else would you be doing?”

“I have _hobbies_.”

“What hobbies?”

There was a long pause.

“Sleeping.”

“Oh my god.” Leckie rolled his eyes and deliberately turned away from him. “You know what, I’m changing my vote. I’ve been in enough failed relationships to handle whatever bullshit we could deal with, and we all know each other already. This might not be a total train wreck.”

“We’re _voting_ now?”

“Wait,” Runner said suddenly. “Lucky—what about Vera?”

They all watched as Leckie swallowed and attempted a nonchalant shrug.

“What about Vera?”

“Come on, Leckie,” Chuckler said, cocking his head. “You’ve only been waiting for the chance to ask her out since before we even started here. Runner’s got a point—are you really going to give her up for us?”

He cleared his throat.

“Okay, first of all, Vera is an autonomous person capable of making her own decisions and it would be illogical and chauvinistic of me to assume that the idea of her agreeing to date me is enough of a certainty to justify closing any other avenue of romantic relationship. Secondly… Vera is engaged.”

“To _Dunworthy_?”

Leckie smiled tightly.

“To Dunworthy.”

“What the _fuck_.”

“I’m sure he’s a great guy,” Leckie said, still smiling, of the guy who had taken eight months to learn his name, despite the fact that Leckie and Vera had been friends since the ninth grade and had lunch at least once a week throughout college. “He popped the question on New Year’s. They’re not telling anyone until graduation, but she told me because she needed to tell someone and, you know, she knew I’d be happy for her.” He took a deep breath. “I am. Whatever. It’s fine. Point is, Vera is a non-entity, dating wise, and can we just vote already?”

Chuckler reached over and rubbed Leckie’s back soothingly.

“Seriously, when did we start voting?” Hoosier demanded.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Chuckler said seriously. “Listen, Hoos, are you seriously against this idea? Because I still think I have persuasive shit to say but I won't if you don't want to be persuaded.”

Hoosier pursed his lips and rested his elbows on the table, deep in thought.

“In theory… It’s not the stupidest idea we’ve ever had,” he said slowly. “I—yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind having three guys fawning at my feet and buying me chocolate every week, which of course is a condition of dating me. But in terms of whether it would work… I want to hear Runner’s vote first.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because. All of us have dated people before, so we all like have an idea of what we want to get out of this shit. You haven’t, and it’s gonna be a fuckton of work—I mean look at this, we can’t even make out with each other without it turning into this pansy feelings festival—and I don’t think it’s fair to pressure you into committing to that when you don’t necessarily know what you’re getting into.”

“That’s… mature, Bill,” Chuckler said, sounding extremely impressed.

“I try. And listen, I’m still not saying yes for sure,” he added. “If you say no, I’m gonna say no. But if you say yes I might still say no, so either way it’s not on you, okay?”

“Okay,” Runner said in a small voice.

“No pressure,” Leckie confirmed, but the sarcastic little voice in Runner’s head noted that that meant jack and shit when the three of them were still staring at him.

He looked down at his hands instead and considered the possibility. It made his heart flutter, he couldn’t deny that. The prospect that any one of his friends would consider dating him was a wonderful boost to his ego, which, frankly, needed the attention after the past week. They had known each other for four years now and there was no one he was more comfortable with, no one he felt he could be open with the same way, no one he trusted, no one he had as much fun with. And secretly he had been worrying about what would happen when he finally did get in a real adult relationship—how much fucking pressure would that be on his boyfriend, if Runner had all this baggage to dump on him? But baggage spread across three people… that seemed fairer. Plus they _knew_ him already, they knew exactly what they were getting into, and he knew their weaknesses and faults, too. He’d spent four years propping them up when they were feeling down. How much different could this really be?

Then he remembered what Hoosier had said—that relationships took a lot of work. And sometimes… they didn’t work out.

“I… I hated this past week,” he said slowly. “I really did. It fucking sucked not talking to you guys, and the thought of like…” He squirmed in his seat. “I mean what if it doesn't work and we break up and it’s this huge deal? Or what if two of us end up liking each other _better_ , or what happens when we graduate and end up in different places?” His voice was shaking, and he took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I think… I love you guys, I love being around you and maybe we could be happy, but I’m scared as fuck about what would happen if we weren’t. I don’t know if I want to risk that.”

One by one, they nodded. Hoosier patted Runner on the back and Chuckler gave him a feeble smile. For a long minute no one spoke at all, and then Chuckler sighed and stood up.

“Oh well, it was worth a shot. We’ll always have my balls-freezing dorm room. Dinner sucked tonight, who wants Taco Bell?”

“Fuck yeah,” Hoosier said as he stood, too.

“That shit is pure carcinogens and recycled kitchen scraps. It’ll kill you.”

“Fine, I get your chalupa.”

“Fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t eat it.”

They chatted idly as they zipped up costs and backpacks and began to wander away from the table; Runner reached out suddenly and grabbed Hoosier’s wrist.

“What were you going to vote?” he asked in an undertone.

“I told you, if you said no I was going to say no.”

“I know, but if I hadn’t—what would you have said?”

Hoosier sighed and looked over his shoulder. Chuckler and Leckie hadn’t noticed their delay.

“I never told anyone about being gay,” he said in a quiet voice. “Or—really talked about being ace, either. I didn’t—but I feel comfortable with you guys. You’re like… can’t explain it. I think I would have said yes.” He pulled his arm free and nudged Runner with his elbow. “Don’t dwell on it, okay? C’mon, let’s get Taco Bell.”

He smiled and started to walk away, but Runner remained where he was and watched the three of them walk away. His heart was a confusing mess of relief and sadness. It was for the best, he told himself. He’d never had a friendship like this. It was once in a lifetime, and there was no guarantee that a relationship would improve on something this good. He could lose them so fucking easily—lose late nights on the floor in Chuckler’s room, and post-finals naps with Hoosier, and cuddly bitchfests with Leckie, and spontaneous ice cream trips, and karaoke nights, and dog watching in the park, and stupid nicknames and four-hour conversations and laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe and...

He was having trouble breathing now.

“Fuck it.”

Runner stood and dashed towards the cluster of puffy winter coats, barreling into all three of them at once. His arms weren’t wide enough to reach around both Leckie and Hoosier at once but he tried, and pressed his face into Chuckler’s back. He could feel them peering over their shoulders to look at him but he squeezed his shut and tried to focus on nothing but the pounding rhythm of his heart. He loved them. They were crazy and irritating and childlike and obnoxious, and his heart was going to burst with love for them.

“I’m in.”


End file.
